“That’s domestic support, Caroline.

It isn’t capital.”

He walked down the narrow, dark hallway toward the bedroom.

“Turn off the kitchen light when you come to bed,” he said.

The bedroom door shut firmly, the latch clicking into place.

Caroline stayed at the kitchen table in the quiet room.

She reached out and lifted the heavy blue ceramic mug off her drawing.

A thick, dark ring of spilled tea had soaked through the heavy cream paper.